Two very frightened girls presented themselves at the door of Miss Harland's office the next morning.
They showed their feeling very differently. Rosalind was trembling and weeping, the picture of grief; but Marcia's dark face was settled into an expression of sullen determination not to speak. It might have been carved out of stone as she stood with her lowering brow, and sombre dark eyes fixed on the floor.
Miss Harland looked at them very gravely and sadly. Marcia's eyes were raised presently with a defiant and stubborn expression that was unpromising. Rosalind did not look up at all. She was frankly crying. At last Miss Harland spoke.
"I am sorry to have to send for you, girls, but Miss Charlton has reported that you were both absent without leave last night until a later hour than I like my girls to be out—especially without permission. I must ask you, therefore, to give me a full account of your expedition—where you went, and with whom. I am sorry you had not confidence enough in me to tell me about it, and to ask my leave; but since you have not done so, I must require an explanation, Marcia, you may speak."
But Marcia remained stubbornly silent, only looking up from under her dark brows with her sullen, defiant expression.
After waiting a few minutes, Miss Harland turned to Rosalind.
"You will not refuse to answer me, Rosalind? I think you have not found me a hard mistress in the past, have you?"
Rosalind could scarcely speak for tears. "Oh, no, Miss Harland. I'll tell you—what I can—"
"Thank you. Then tell me at whose house you were, and what took you there?"
"It was a party. They invited Marcia, and said she could bring a friend."
"And did she suggest that you come without permission?"
"Oh, no. Miss Harland. She—she said she was glad you did not object—"
Here Marcia gave a warning glance in Rosalind's direction, which was not lost on Miss Harland. "There was no harm in it," she muttered.
"Then, Marcia, if there was no harm, why not have come and told me, and had my leave to go openly?"
"I thought you wouldn't let us," in a hoarse, defiant voice.
Miss Harland was silent an instant. How could she make this girl, with her innately deceitful and secretive nature, understand where the wrong lay?
"And who escorted you there, and brought you back?" she asked.
Rosalind answered, as Marcia seemed determined not to speak again.
"Mrs. Marshall's son and another boy; I don't know his name. At least, they told us, but I can't remember."
Miss Harland felt relieved. Rosalind's replies bore the stamp of truth. In fact, as Miss Harland knew, she was too simple and straightforward to be other than truthful. Her mind did not work fast enough to concoct a falsehood; she was silly and easily led, but when it came to the point, she would blunder out the truth. Marcia, on the other hand, was extremely secretive, and would rather weave a tangled web of evasions than give a clear and truthful answer. Miss Harland felt that there was some confusion somewhere. Mrs. Marshall was a good friend of her. She could be sure that she would not have countenanced any underhand dealing. Why, then, did Marcia wish to conceal the fact of the invitation? She was puzzled, but relieved that the affair was no worsethan a schoolgirl's natural love of a secret adventure. But it would not do to pass it over lightly.
"And so you thought to deceive me, and slipped out without my permission. Don't you see, Marcia, thatthereis where the harm lies? I must not pass over such an infringement of the school regulations, and so I must punish you both. You will be restricted for one month, or until after Christmas. And the next time you wish to go out, come to me frankly and ask permission. If possible, I will grant it; and if I do not see fit, I shall expect you to submit cheerfully to my decision in the matter. Now you may go to your classes."
Marcia left the room without a word, looking like a thunder cloud. Rosalind lingered, sobbing, to speak the words of contrition for which Miss Harland had been waiting.
"Please forgive me, Miss Harland. I'm sorry—so sorry, truly. I'll never do it again. It wasn't a bit of fun, anyway, for I didn't like going without leave, and I was scared all the time that somebody would recognize us. I don't like doingthings in that underhand way; it frightens me. I knew all the time it was wrong, but I let Marcia persuade me. It was my own fault, and I'm sorry. Forgive me."
The pretty face was very pleading as Rosalind looked up with blue eyes drowned in tears. Miss Harland's kiss of forgiveness was ready, as she put her arm around the repentant sinner and drew her close into her kind arms.
"I forgive you, Rosalind, but there is Another whose pardon you must ask," she said tenderly.
"You mean God. I will, indeed, Miss Harland. I have already, and I will again," promised Rosalind.
Late one afternoon, a few days later, five of the Kindred Spirits gathered in Kathy's room to talk things over, for the excitement over the recent happenings in the school still ran high. Evelyn, Polly and Joan sat on the bed, Rachel in the window seat, and Kathy on a low velvet stool, known as the "Stool of Repentance." A light snow was falling outside, making a pleasant contrast with the warmth and comfort within.
The girls were all talking at once, yet, mysteriously, each hearing what all the others said. In the midst of the Babel the door was pushed quietly open, and Rosalind slipped in, looking ashamed and sorry and confused all at once; doubtful of her welcome, yet anxious to be back in her old place among them.
"May I come? I knocked, but you were all talking so hard, you didn't hear me."
"Of course you may. Here, sit down beside me on the 'stool of repentance,'" said Kathy, making room for her.
"It's the right place for me, I know," said Rosalind meekly. "I've been horrid lately, girls, but I'm one of the 'K. S.' still, unless you've turned me out."
"We haven't. You deserted us," said Polly the blunt. "But we are glad to see you back, Rosy," she added, frankly.
"I'm dreadfully glad to be back, if you've all forgiven me. I've missed you terribly. I don't exactly know how it happened. But I'm sorry. What were you all talking about when I came in?" asked Rosalind, as completely one of the group as if she had never left it.
"Why, of these odd things that have been happening lately," explained Joan. "You know, the disappearance of Kathy's ring and necklace, and——"
"But I found the necklace this morning," interrupted Kathy. "I meant to tell you, but you haven't given me a chance."
"Why, Kathy!" "Where?" "How?" A chorus arose.
"When I moved my trunk out from the wall to sweep behind it," explained Kathy, "I found a little parcel wrapped in tissue paper. I opened it, thinking I might have dropped something there, and inside was my necklace, all crushed together into a ball, and the clasp broken. If anyone knows anything about it, explanations will be in order."
The girls, silent in sheer amaze, looked at each other and then at Rosalind, who gazed blankly at them in return.
"I didn't put it there, girls, indeed. I don't know in the least how it got there—"
"But do you know anything about it?" asked Kathy.
"No, I don't. It looks like the one Marciawore the night of that party, but I thought it was hers, and it may have been."
"She said nothing about it to you?"
"Not a word. Please believe me, girls."
"Of course we believeyou," said Joan, with an emphasis on the last word.
"Well, at any rate, the necklace is found, and I am very glad. I will have it mended, and take better care of it," said Kathy gravely. "I haven't found my ring yet, nor has Rachel's pencil case been discovered."
"That is what I came about," said Rosalind, gathering courage. She opened the handkerchief which she had held crumpled in her hand, and showed the two missing articles under discussion, a locket and chain and one or two other small articles. "I found them in my dresser drawer just now, in a little box. Honestly, I don't know anything about them, or how they got there."
"How did it happen that you didn't find them before?" asked Rachel, reclaiming her property.
"I haven't cleared out my drawer lately, and the box was at the back, under a pile of handkerchiefs and things. The drawer was in an awful mess, and I was hunting for a collar," confessed Rosalind with a shame-faced grin, for her untidiness was a proverb. "I brought it to you as soon as I found it," she added, and there was truth in her face and voice. The girls believed her.
"But what does it mean?" asked Joan. "Don't cry, Rosy, we know you didn't take them. You are silly enough sometimes, but you wouldn't steal."
The others assented readily. They all knew that, while Rosalind might be led away for a time by folly and vanity, yet her nature was true and sound, and she had a conscience. She knew quite well that she had been led astray by her love of pleasure, and her penitence was sincere.
"I can't understand it a bit," she began, when the door was opened again—abruptly, and Alisonappeared—a pale and dismayed Alison with wide frightened eyes.
"Girls—have you hidden it on purpose, just to frighten me? Please don't tease me, but tell me it is just a joke. I know you only meant to frighten me!"
"Why, Alison, what can you mean? We haven't done a thing," said Kathy, speaking for them all.
Alison flung herself across the bed, already sufficiently occupied by three substantial girls. Joan caught her and pulled her into her lap.
"Here," she said, shaking Alison roughly by the shoulder. "No hysterics, or I'll slap you. Just tell us what is the matter."
Thus importuned, Alison checked her sobs and raised a tragic face. "My lamp! I'll never see it again!"
"Nonsense. How could you never see it again? Tell us. Is it broken?"
"It's gone!"
"Gone! Not your beautiful Aladdin lamp, Alison? Why, itcouldn'tbe lost. What do you mean?"
Alison pulled herself together and tried to speak collectedly.
"I've been down in the library all the afternoon, taking notes for my English; I came up to my room a few minutes ago, and as I looked round I missed the lamp. You all know where it always stands, on my table. Well, it wasn't there. And I thought—I hoped—that some of you might have hidden it for a joke. If you didn't, then I don't know what to think."
"What a ridiculous idea," said Polly indignantly. "A fine joke it would be. What do you take us for?"
"I couldn't think what else could have become of it," said Alison, beginning to cry again. Joan began to comfort her, but Kathy checked the words on her lips.
"Listen, Alison. Who was in your room while you were gone?"
"Only Marcia. I left her studying algebra."
"And where is she now?"
"I don't know. She was gone when I came up."
"And your lamp with her," added Joan. "I have an idea. Wait a minute, all of you."
She ran across the hall to Alison's room, returning promptly. "Come, all of you, and see."
The girls followed her, and stood puzzled in the doorway.
"Where are Marcia's things?" demanded Joan.
A glance around the room showed it empty of all that had belonged to Marcia. The girls looked at each other. Kathy was the first to speak.
"We must find Marcia, girls—if she is to be found—and ask her if the lamp was in the room when she left it."
A hasty but thorough search established the certainty that Marcia was not in any of the buildings. Neither, apparently, was the lamp. It was almost supper time when the girls came together again to report failure.
"What do you think?" Alison asked.
Joan, as usual, was the spokeswoman. "It looks to me as if she wanted to go away, and has taken the lamp to sell it in order to get the money for her ticket. She could not sell jewelry, of course, but a handsome lamp might bring a good price. She has looked even more forbidding than usual the last few days, and I know she hated school. She put back the other things she 'borrowed,' and tried to throw the blame on Rosalind by hiding them in her drawer. She knew Rosy was in Kathy's room with us, and she had a clear field. So she carried out her plans, and ran away."
"Well," said Kathy after a pause. "If Joan is right, we ought to report Marcia's disappearance at once. If she has really run away from school, Miss Harland will have to know it."
The whole school was thrown into a ferment of excitement over the discovery of Marcia's disappearance. No one exactly told anyone, but the news flew from lip to lip with the speed of that little bird so famous for its gossiping tendency. The school buildings were searched again, with no result. No one had seen Marcia go out; yet she was certainly not in the school. Miss Harland telephoned to all her friends in the town with whom Marcia might be supposed to be staying, but no one had seen her or heard from her.
In great distress Miss Harland called up Marcia's father, Mr. West, who was staying in a hotel in a nearby town, and asked him if his daughter was with him, and to her intense relief, received aquick and reassuring reply. Yes, his little girl had just arrived by the late train. She was so homesick for her Daddy, she could not stay away from him any longer, she told him.
Could she speak to Marcia herself, Miss Harland asked. There was a brief colloquy at the other end of the line, and then Mr. West spoke courteously. Marcia had just gone to bed with a bad cold, and could not talk that night. Tomorrow he would talk with her. And with a pleasant "Goodnight," he hung up.
Relieved from her fears for Marcia's safety, Miss Harland gladly relinquished the search for the night, and the girls were forced to restrain their excitement and go to bed. The next morning Mr. West came in person to talk with Miss Harland. Marcia was still in bed, and too hoarse to talk, so she had asked her father to explain to Miss Harland why she had left school without a word to her. She could not bear to be away from him, and hearing that he was about to leave for Chicago to accept a position there, had hurried tojoin him, and being in haste to catch the afternoon train, had not had time to take leave of her friends and teachers. It was foolish, he said indulgently, but he had spoiled his little girl, and could not be hard on her.
Miss Harland asked him quietly whether Marcia had said anything of having borrowed something of one of the girls. But Mr. West shook his head. He would ask her, and let Miss Harland know; and politely bowed himself out. Later, he telephoned to say that he had talked to Marcia, and she had declared she had borrowed nothing of her friends. She and her father were going to start for Chicago the same night, and she would have no opportunity to say goodbye to the girls and Miss Harland. Her cold was better, and she sent her love, and wished them all a merry Christmas.
Miss Harland returned a similar wish, and smiled as she hung up. She was glad Marcia was safe with her father, and was not sorry to have seen the last of her.
So Marcia left Briarwood, and with her departed something that had spoiled the spirit of concord and happiness which usually prevailed in the school. The girls were happy and at peace again. Joan returned to her old place as Alison's roommate, and their room became as before Marcia's coming, the rendezvous of the "Kindred Spirits."
All would have been well with Alison, but for the grief for the loss of her lamp. No trace of it had been found. There was no certainty that Marcia had had anything to do with its vanishing, but Joan, always practical and logical, maintained that since Marcia and the lamp had been alone together the whole afternoon, and since the lamp, having no feet, could not have left the room by itself, it was plain that Marcia must have assisted its departure. Alison said nothing, but she grieved deeply, with no hope of ever seeing her treasure again.
The Christmas holidays were drawing near. The girls were busy with plans for the two weeks'vacation, looking forward eagerly to going home, and the teachers were equally anxious for the coming of the last day of school.
Alison felt as if she could scarcely wait. Her gifts for the family were bought—the book she knew her father had long wanted but had not felt he could afford to buy for himself; the new dress for her mother, who would never get it for herself; the roller skates for Billy, the pretty scarf for Floss, the doll for little Mat, who had not yet outgrown them.
She hovered over them lovingly, fondling each package as she wrapped and tied them with a lavish expenditure of tissue paper and ribbon. How she blessed the memory of Aunt Justina, whose generosity had made her gifts possible! "Ican'twait," she said, and laughed at herself for her impatience.
The only flaw in her happiness was the prospect of having to confess at home that she had lost her "Aladdin lamp."
Two days before the 23rd, Joan, looking over her lists, made a discovery. "Alison, I'll have to have some more cards. I forgot a whole bunch of cousins out in Texas, who will be sure to send to me. I must run down and get some more before they are all gone. Come with me. It's snowing a little, but not too much."
"All right. Run and get permission while I put on my hat and coat."
In a few moments Joan came back with the required permission, and the two girls set out, running down the steps of the terrace and out into the snowy street. The snow was coming down more briskly, but they only laughed and enjoyed the frolic as they ran down the steep hillside and reached the level street on which the stores were. The "ten-cent store," the shoppers' delight, was packed with late shoppers like themselves. Joan struggled through the dense crowd at the counter, pushed and jostled by the good-natured crowd, while Alison waited, amused and interested.
It was a lengthy ordeal, but at last Joan hadfound all she wanted and was ready to go. It was nearly dark by this time, and the snow was thicker, swirling about so as almost to blind them.
"We must run, or we shall be late for supper," Joan said, and they made what speed they could. Suddenly Alison stopped short before the well-lighted window of a little jewelry and antique shop. "Look, Joan!"
"What are you looking at? Do let's hurry," urged Joan.
But Alison stood still. "Do you see? There, in Mr. Delany's window. Is that my lamp, or isn't it?"
Interested now, Joan stopped. "It is yours, or its twin," she decided. "I didn't think there was but one."
"I believe itismine. I'm going in to ask about it," said Alison, and turned into the warm bright little shop, followed by Joan.
The proprietor was a friendly little Frenchman, well known to the girls, who frequently purchasedtheir gifts there. He came forward, bowing and rubbing his hands. "You want something for Christmas, is it not? I haf many pretty things," he offered.
"I came to ask about that lamp in the window, Mr. Delany," Alison said, too eager to beat about the bush. "It is exactly like one I lost. Will you tell me where you got it?"
"That?" The old man looked disconcerted. "It was not meant to be in the window at all; but my assistant, he has not much sense. It is not for sale, Mademoiselle."
"But how did you get it?" Alison persisted, and seeing her earnestness he looked puzzled.
"It was sold to me, Mademoiselle, by a young lady, I think from your school. I haf seen her pass with the other young demoiselles. She asked me not to sell it again. She needed money, and if I would buy it from her, she would come back and redeem it later. Her father was ill, very ill, and she had no money to go to him. She wascoming back to get it later. So I lent her the money on it—but I haf not seen her yet."
The girls looked at each other. So, Alison's generous heart said, perhaps Marciadidmean only to borrow the lamp. Perhaps she really meant to return it; but in the mean time, what if it should be sold by mistake, or even stolen before that time came? Should she risk leaving it in Mr. Delany's shop, even overnight?
"Mr. Delany," she said, "I know all you say is true. I know the young lady who sold you the lamp, or borrowed money on it. She was my roommate at school, and she has gone to her father, as she said. That part is true. But I want my lamp back at once, to take home for Christmas. Can I get it from you now?"
Mr. Delany looked puzzled and doubtful. "I promised the young demoiselle—" he began.
"If she were here, she would give it back to me. If Miss Harland comes to you herself and explains about it, will you let me have it?" Alison asked persuasively. "I will pay you, ofcourse, just what you advanced to the young lady."
"But certainly, if Mademoiselle Harland herself assures me that it is all right," agreed Mr. Delany affably.
"Then please put it away for a little while until she comes," begged Alison.
They flew home to report the discovery and the difficulty to Miss Harland, and late though it was, she went with them at once to the little Frenchman's shop. Mr. Delany was so impressed by her quiet dignity and authority that he readily parted with the lamp for the sum he had paid to Marcia for it, considering that he had come out very well on the transaction at that.
And in triumph Alison carried her treasure home, feeling that her Christmas was assured.
Christmas came, with all its anticipated joys, and went all too swiftly into the past, leaving behind it a precious store of happy memories.
The New Year found the girls of Briarwood back at school, fresh from their holiday and ready for the hardest work of the year. The days were well filled with study and play. New friendships were formed and old ones strengthened, and a spirit of happiness and of honest comradeship prevailed in the school as the girls worked together.
Marcia was gone, and no one regretted her absence. She never returned to redeem the lamp or, as Miss Harland had half hoped she would, to offer an apology and explanation of why she had "borrowed" Alison's lamp, and the otherpieces of property belonging to others, which she had appropriated without leave, and returned in so cavalier a fashion. They heard of her now and then in the course of the next few years—sometimes in the lists of schools in the different cities to which her father's business took him; later, she appeared occasionally in the society pages of the papers.
Later still came the announcement of her marriage to a young man well known in society circles; after which she was heard of no more, and the trouble she had caused in the school was forgotten in the other interests that had taken its place.
The Sophomore, Junior and Senior years of the "Kindred Spirits" and their friends were successfully passed, and at length came the day, so long worked for and looked forward to, when, with their school honors won, the members of the Senior class were ready to throw off the cap and gown, receive their diplomas and step forth as full-fledged graduates, equipped for life intheir various ways, each hoping to fulfill her ambition and to realize the cherished hope that lay nearest her heart.
The "Kindred Spirits" were gathered for the last time in Alison's and Joan's room, to look over and comment on the new Annual,Briarwood Bells. The class history was pronounced fairly good. In their Freshman year they had made good in athletics. As Sophomores, there had been some drawbacks in the first half of the year, but these had been made up by the work of the latter half. Their "verdant days" were past, and they realized the importance of faithful work.
With the Junior year came new interests and hopes. The principal event in this year, in the girls' memories, was the "Junior-Senior banquet," the end and aim of existence for the time being. And now, with the close of the Senior year the class had won its laurels, concluded the Historian; and one sensed the long breath of relief with which she finished her task.
"Pretty good, on the whole," Joan pronounced."Nothing brilliant, but I think Miss Harland will consider that we have upheld the honor of Briarwood."
Kathy turned the pages, and then suddenly closed the book.
"Girls, I have an idea. Before we read the class prophecy, let us each tell our plans and ambitions for the future, and see how they tally with what Helen has foretold for us—"
"And let us meet here in this very room, ten years from now, and see how many of her prophecies have come true." That was Joan's suggestion.
"All right," assented Kathy. "Who will begin?"
"You. You started this thing," said Rachel.
"Very well. I expect to teach for a few years, and then to be a trained nurse. Now you, Alison."
"I want to do a lot of things, but most of all, I want to come back here and teach at Briarwood," said Alison earnestly.
"Good! Then you'll be here to welcome us when we meet in ten years," Joan applauded. "As for me, I'm going to fly.... You will hear of me some day as the famous woman aviator."
"I'm going to travel to the ends of the earth," was Polly's contribution. "Perhaps I'll fly with Polly."
It was Rachel's turn. "I'm not so ambitious as Polly and Jo. Mine is to be the best teacher of Domestic Science that I know how to be. I specialized in that, you know."
"Fine! Mine is to teach music and play at big concerts," said Evelyn. "Now, Rosalind, how are you going to distinguish yourself?"
Rosalind smiled and blushed all over her pretty flower-like face.
"Why—I hadn't quite made up my mind. I guess I'll just have a good time for a while, and then be—a lawyer."
There was a shout of laughter. Kathy had been writing, and now read her notes: "A teacher at Briarwood; a flyer; a great traveler; a DomesticScience teacher; a musician; a lawyer; and a trained nurse. Most of the professions seemed to be represented. Briarwood will have cause to be proud of us. Now let us see what the Class Prophet has to say of us."
She turned the pages to one headed
CLASS PROPHECY
and began to read. The "prophecy" purported to be items from newspapers of the future, and some of the extracts are of interest to our readers. The first ran thus:
"Misses Polly Worthington and Evelyn Kingsley have recently opened their Music Studio. Miss Worthington will give instruction in voice and Miss Kingsley in piano. Both young ladies distinguished themselves in these branches at college."
"The public will be glad to hear that the best equipped hospital in the South will shortly be opened, with Miss Alison Fair as head nurse."
"After finishing her course in Math. at the University of —— in which she did brilliantly, Miss Rachel Cameron has accepted a position as Math. teacher at her Alma Mater."
"The best seller of the month is a novel by Miss Katherine Bertram, who is winning for herself an enviable name as a writer. Her former classmates will read her work with interest and pleasure."
"A recent item in a missionary magazine tells us that Miss Joan Wentworth has decided to devote her life and talents to the missionfield. She will sail this week for China."
"Miss Rosalind Forrest, the fairest ornament of her class in college, is deeply interested in Social Service work, and is doing valuable work along this line."
"Helen May, Historian."
Kathy looked up. "So there is our future, girls, as our Historian has foretold it. We never know. Perhaps some of us may follow the paths she has pointed out. But in any case we can only do our very best in whatever place in life we may find ourselves, content and humbly glad if we merit the Lord's commendation, 'Well done, good and faithful servant—'"
There was a pause as Kathy stopped speaking. She had not meant to preach, but the words had come to her instinctively, and they touched a responsive chord in their hearts. The young faces were serious as thoughts deeper than their merry surface banter made themselves felt.
A sweet-toned bell called them to supper. The spring evening was falling, soft and dewy, over the gray old walls and terraces of Briarwood. Tomorrow they would separate, never to meet again as care-free schoolgirls; and the shadow of the parting lay on their faces and hearts as they rose to go down. It was Joan who cheerfully said,
"To meet again—this day ten years!"